Unrelated Incidents
by vitt1977
Summary: Soon after Alex Eames takes over the role of lieutenant at the 27th Precinct, new evidence comes to light regarding a well-known 14-year-old vehicular manslaughter case. Meanwhile, a member of Eames' family is tragically murdered. Xover w/L&O mothership.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Soon after Alex Eames takes over the role of lieutenant at the 27th Precinct, new evidence comes to light regarding a well-known 14-year-old vehicular manslaughter case. Meanwhile, a member of Eames' family is tragically murdered. She may need to call on an old friend for help in solving both cases, which appear to be connected.

Author's Notes: I don't own the characters, I'm not making money off of them, I'm just playing with them, etc. and so on.

Spoilers: '95-96 season of L&O mothership (just in case anyone hasn't seen it yet? haha), current season of L&O, and the last three seasons of Criminal Intent, *including* spoilers for the current season premiere in March. This story takes place some months after the incidents that are rumored to take place in the CI season premiere.

* * *

Detective Kevin Bernard lifted his eyes from the report he'd been studying. "Lupes," he said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to his partner, "our victim has priors."

Cyrus Lupo glanced at the paper. "Two DWIs in '95, vehicular manslaughter in '96." He pointed at the last offence. "This is that ADA who was killed. There's a plaque on one of the walls at 100 Centre Street."

"The lieutenant will want to hear about this one." Bernard stood up slowly.

"Why?"

"Do you know who Claire Kincaid _was_?"

"An ADA who died."

"Trust me, Lupes, the lieutenant is going to want to hear about this."

"All right," Lupo said with an easy shrug. "I'm waiting to hear from CSU on fingerprints. They're working on a theory that the body was moved."

Bernard made his way to Lieutenant Alex Eames' office at the back of the 27th precinct house.

Eames was a warm person and, more importantly, a strong leader, but to the detectives of the two-seven, she was no Anita van Buren, who had retired three months earlier after fifteen years of heading up the precinct. Van Buren was thankfully now cancer free, but too worn out to put in even another year with the NYPD. And, as some of the detectives had suggested, Lieutenant Eames, who'd served as a detective on the Major Case Squad for almost a decade, often seemed more interested in solving puzzles than solving problems.

"Lieutenant?" he asked, peeking his head into her office.

"Detective, come in." Eames now seemed comfortable in her new digs; three months earlier, she was on edge, having recently lost her former squad's captain to a senseless, violent shooting. The detectives had all been warned to take it easy on her while she settled in.

"The body found by the Shakespeare in the Park theater this morning," Bernard said quickly. "CSU's testing the prints they lifted, and I just got a look at our victim's priors. Roger Overland did three months of an eighteen-month sentence for vehicular manslaughter, and his victim was Assistant District Attorney Claire Kincaid."

Eames' eyes widened. "I worked with her a few times years ago, when I was on vice."

"Do you understand why I'm coming to you?"

"Absolutely. Rumor flies. And, we all got a better idea of what had happened when Jack McCoy was brought up on ethics violations a few years later."

"Lupo and I'll head to Centre Street –"

"You know it's better if I talk to him." She stood up and secured her gun in its holster, then put on her blazer and shrugged her shoulders to straighten it out.

"You sure?"

"Brief me on what you guys have so far."

"Nothing, until we hear back from the M.E. and CSU."

"I'll go to McCoy." She wrinkled her forehead and pursed her lips, preparing a justification she'd never offered before.. "Politics," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. McCoy." Eames reached out and shook the D.A.'s hand.

"Lieutenant Eames." They'd met a few times before, back when he was EADA and she'd had to explain every few cases or so how and why Bobby Goren's evidence-gathering techniques were to be considered perfectly legal. "My secretary said it was urgent."

"It's regarding a case that my detectives are investigating as of this morning." She sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "Mr. McCoy, a man named Roger Overland was found dead in Central Park this morning."

McCoy raised his eyebrows so high that his hairline moved. "My detectives are starting with CSU," Eames continued, "and I'm starting here."

"Overland. I haven't heard that name in a very long time." His words all came out as a single shallow sigh.

"I want to ask you a few questions," Eames said.

"Am I a … suspect?" McCoy asked, incredulous.

"Procedurally, yes."

McCoy laughed. "I suppose if you asked his friends and family if anyone had a beef with him, "the Manhattan District Attorney" would be one of their answers. The ADAs I was in a meeting with this morning can alibi me."

Eames looked down at her Blackberry, which displayed Lupo and Bernard's report on the Medical Examiner's findings. "Time of death was between 4 and 7 PM yesterday," she told him. "The body was moved."

"I was here yesterday evening until 9, and you've got my fingerprints on file somewhere, I'm sure."

"Great. We can easily rule you out, then. Had you heard anything new about Overland or Ms. Kincaid lately?"

"Like I said, I haven't heard anything about Overland in years. As for Claire Kincaid, her name has not been mentioned in this office for over a decade."

"Is there anything relevant that might not be in the casefile?"

"I can't know what's relevant unless I know where you are on the case. I'm going to help you in your investigation – regardless of who Roger Overland was, this office does _not_ condone vigilante justice – but Claire Kincaid was a very private person, and I'd like to respect that."

"I understand." She hated having to play the empathy card, but she'd seen it work for and against Bobby Goren many times, and knew it was worth a shot. "Three years ago, my late husband's case surfaced again, eight years after he died. Because of another murder, we had to completely change the original theory of the crime."

McCoy said nothing. All sixty-five years of his life revealed themselves on his face. His eyes betrayed extreme concern, letting Eames know that for the moment, there were no politics in the room.

Eames' Blackberry beeped, alerting her to a message from Bernard.

"What is it?" McCoy asked.

Eames studied the message for a few more seconds. "We may have to hand this case over to the Feds," she said.

"Why?"

"Because our computer systems are much more sophisticated now than they were in 1996," Eames said. "Roger Overland's prints match those of a Lawrence Teel, who has been wanted in the UK since 1990 for three murders for hire. As Roger Overland, he managed to stay completely under the radar for nineteen years, even while he did time for Claire Kincaid's death."

McCoy turned white.

"Should I call the Feds?" Eames asked.

"No. Unless they demand we hand over the case, this one stays with Manhattan as long as it possibly can."


	3. Chapter 3

_Theory #1: Roger Overland wanted a clean break from his former life as a htiman and was successful for five years, until he accidentally killed Claire Kincaid while driving drunk. He had to pay off several people in prison in order to keep his secret; after fourteen years, someone wanted more money, and Overland couldn't supply it. _

_Theory #2: Roger Overland was in the same line of work he'd been in back in England, and he was hired to kill Claire Kincaid and make it look much more like an accident than a hired hit. Overland decided he wanted a fresh payoff from whoever had hired him all those years ago, and the unknown conspirator couldn't supply it. _

As Eames mapped out these two theories on a piece of notebook paper while she sat on her sofa at home, she was certain that she and her detectives lacked sufficient evidence for either one. The D.A's office, the M.E., CSU – they'd all sing their "where's the evidence?" theme song. It was probably Bobby Goren's influence that was keeping her awake, struggling to interpret the modicum of evidence they did have.

After Captain Ross was killed – she couldn't bear to think of it, his leaving two teenage sons behind, and so near the end of his career – Goren decided to retire, citing exhaustion, though Eames knew it was more than that.

"I hold you back, Alex," he'd said, one of the rare moments during which he'd addressed her by her first name.

Their partnership had become tense in its last few years, though they'd regained some ground before Ross's death. There was an incident, a moment, a night shortly after they'd put away the right shooter for Joe's murder, and Eames didn't like to think about that moment either because she didn't want to admit to herself that it had happened. She'd slept with Goren, her longtime partner. In the NYPD, and between friends, working partner sex fell into the "that's not cool" category (as she'd once heard Mike Logan label it). It was just once, though.

"Eames, you deserve a much better companion," Goren had told her the next day. She didn't see it as a brush-off because, as his closest friend, she knew he actually believed that.

After they'd wound up barrel-to-barrel in a mob-owned apartment – Goren had gone undercover without telling her – Eames felt that the Goren she'd known, the offbeat and troubled but charming and fiercely ethical Bobby Goren, was gone for good.

Even as he slowly managed to regain her trust, she continued to miss her old friend, who had disappeared under the weight of his mother, brother, and nephew, and the serial killers Nicole Wallace and Mark Ford Brady. So when he retired and began working as a crime lab consultant in Central Pennsylvania, where he could spend time with distant relatives and his nephew's mother, Eames felt a guilty sense of relief.

Her landline rang, and she jumped up to answer it when Caller ID announced that it was her younger brother Johnny.

"Alex, have they called you yet?"

"What, is it Mom?" Her thoughts immediately went to her mother, who'd suffered a stroke some years back.

"No. I'm in the hospital with Mom and Dad. Liz is in emergency surgery. Her car – _your _ car, Alex, _your car_ -- burst into flames half an hour ago."

She'd lent her sister Liz, the mother of the nephew she'd carried as a surrogate, her car for the night, as she often did when Liz didn't want to take her cumbersome minivan to meet with social work clients in Manhattan.

"Is she going to be all right?"

"She's in surgery right now, but … the surgeon was honest with us."

Eames placed a hand over her mouth and gasped. "One of her clients?" she asked, trying to play the detective role in which she was comfortable.

"Get down here."

"I'm on my way."

"They think it has to do with _you_, not her. Whoever did this wanted to kill _you_."


	4. Chapter 4

*updated 5/23 to correct a minor glaring error ;) *

She'd called McCoy to let him know that she was on leave for a week, and that if Bernard and Lupo bothered him with two many questions about the Overland case he should call her on her cell phone.

That night, after the first day of the wake, Megan Wheeler, a detective from Major Case, came to question Eames at her parents' home.

"Thank you for taking this case," Eames said as she settled into a chair in John and Cathy Eames' living room. She took a breath and composed herself; she had been crying, and preferred that the people she worked with remained unaware of her tear ducts. Her father, former NYPD Detective John Eames, stood in the doorway to the kitchen while Wheeler took a seat on the sofa.

"We've gone through the 27th Precinct's cases, and so far, two stick out: Peralta, the drug dealer who killed two witnesses, and Overland, who seems to have had a partner in England who also fell off the grid."

"Okay. Those are both Bernard and Lupo. Keep them in the loop, whatever you do."

"CSU is searching for prints on whatever's left of the car. They haven't found much evidence, which suggests –"

"It was a pro." Eames closed her eyes and struggled not to react. "Peralta didn't kill people for a living. He dealt drugs, and killed a couple of people who were in his way when he got desperate. He was messy. Messy, but somehow out on bail."

"My partner and I are thinking it could have been Overland's associate. We need prints to figure out who this guy is."

"Bernard and Lupo ran the prints on Overland's body through a handful of international databases. They found nothing. Whoever moved that body has no priors here or overseas."

"Is there anyone else who'd want to hurt you?"

"No fresh wounds I know of."

"Okay." Wheeler flipped her notebook shut and stood up. "We'll follow Overland's trail, then." She looked into Eames' eyes as if to add, _if that's all right with you, Lieutenant_.

"Thanks, Megan. Tell the guys hello, all right?"

Wheeler nodded. "I will."

"Alex," John said when Wheeler left and they were standing alone in the kitchen, "will you stay with us tonight? Tim and Nate are in the upstairs bedroom" – her brother-in-law, Liz's husband, had seemed unable and unwilling to speak to her all day – "and you can take the downstairs."

"Okay."

"Will there be a detail on you when you go back to work?"

"Yes, Dad."

"What about the woman who kidnapped you? Did Detective Wheeler ask about –"

"Dead." She took another sharp breath and her small frame heaved. "Bit off her own tongue, bled to death in prison before she saw a courtroom."

"It's not your fault, Alex, you understand that, right?"

"I don't know." She heard the doorbell ring and footsteps – her mother and her older sister, Susan – hurrying to get it. "This is too much."

"We don't blame you. Right now, concentrate on keeping yourself safe."

She appreciated that he knew that she was capable of protecting herself.

"Bobby!" Cathy Eames' voice rang out from the next room. "Oh, oh, she's going to be so glad you're here."

Eames peered in from the kitchen and saw her former partner, who wore a long black peacoat and two worried sloping eyes, bending down to embrace her mother and sister in turn.


	5. Chapter 5

His worried expression and his arms hanging open at his sides, palms facing her, suggested the question "how could this have happened?"

It had been four months since they'd said goodbye, and he was no longer a part of her life and career. So, she was surprised when he – nevertheless awkwardly, of course – put his arms around her and kissed the side of her head.

"Can we get you anything?" Susan asked.

"No, no thank you," Goren said, his eyes darting uncomfortably around the living room.

What was it, Eames wondered, that her family members believed about her relationship with Goren? Not that it mattered at the moment.

They chatted for a while, with Goren repeatedly offering his deepest condolences. Cathy took his coat and suggested that he stay the night.

"I'm glad he's here, for Alex," they heard Cathy tell her husband and daughter after they said goodnight and started up the stairs.

Susan came back downstairs after saying goodnight to her nephew and brother-in-law. Goren now faced the three surviving Eames siblings in their parents' living room.

"I think Tim may hate you," Susan rather bluntly told her sister.

"I can understand why," Eames said, contorting her face into a flat smile intended to cover up what she didn't want to feel.

Goren bounced back and forth on his heels. Johnny glared at him.

"How was Alex supposed to know?" Johnny asked Susan.

"It'd have been easier on Tim and Nate if Alex had been the first one to start her car yesterday. That's all I'm saying." Susan, who more often than not did not realize the implications of what she was saying, was _saying_ that because Alex didn't have a husband and children, her death wouldn't have been as profoundly felt.

"Real nice, Susan," Johnny said, but she still didn't seem to understand the impact her words had on Alex.

Susan was next to leave, anyway, in order to go home to her own husband and children.

"She's got a big mouth," Johnny said.

"Sure."

"So, any word on the perp?" he asked. Now, Eames noticed, Goren's attention was piqued.

"Megan Wheeler from Major Case was here. They were able to rule out all of Liz's clients, and they're thinking it has to do with a case my detectives are working."

"Roger Overland," Goren guessed.

"Yes … how'd you know?"

"The news," he lied.

"Bobby …"

"Wheeler called me about Liz as soon as the case was handed off to the squad."

"And you asked questions."

"Curiosity has its own reason for existing," Goren said, leaning in towards her.

"Hm?"

"Einstein. Does Major Case have any evidence for a connection between Overland and the explosion yet?"

"Circumstantial, but they're working on it."

"I want you both to consider something," Goren said, placing a large hand flat in front of him, as though resting it on an invisible countertop. He obviously thought they should listen to his theory. "Alex, you've been with the NYPD almost eighteen years. Johnny, you, over a decade, right? We see coincidences all the time. Real life is full of coincidences – we forget that because coincidences look ridiculous in novels and on TV."

"What're you talking about?" Eames asked, even though she understood to some degree what he was trying to suggest.

"Correlation does not imply causation. For how many murders or assaults or thefts that require Sherlock Holmes levels of detection and decoding are there cases where the pieces don't fit together because the solution is simpler, more insignificant, than the sum of its parts?"

Johnny threw up his arms. "Let the NYPD do its work, Detective Goren, and don't turn my sister's murder into your personal puzzle, please, for Alex's sake."

"I'm only saying you shouldn't assume this is connected to Overland simply because the time frame happens to coincide."

"We won't assume anything. Goodnight."

Eames led Goren to the downstairs guest room, and they heard Johnny open up the sofabed in the living room behind them. She knew what she wanted to ask him: "so what's _your_ theory of the crime, then?" But when she went to the bathroom to change into sweatpants and an old academy T-shirt, another wave of grief pounded against her. She leaned her forehead to the wall, sobbed for thirty seconds, then returned to the bedroom.

Goren had already spread his notes and photographs – all related to Liz's murder – across the bed. Eames rolled her swollen, bloodshot eyes.

"D'ya think," she said, sitting beside him at the edge of the bed, "that we put our families and friends in extraordinary danger by doing what we do, or …?"

"I know people who have been on the job for decades, and their families are happy and healthy with nothing to worry about. It's just us, Eames."

Residual tears spilled over when she laughed. "I wonder if Overland was hired by someone who wanted to get at the district attorney fourteen years ago," she said. "You know, what's at stake in the Overland case isn't about who killed a hitman, it's about whether someone hired a hitman to kill Claire Kincaid."

Goren looked at his notes again. "I am convinced that your sister's murder – what was almost _your _murder – has nothing whatsoever to do with Kincaid."

"Bobby." She gathered his notes and photographs and stacked them into a neat pile. He reached out a hand to stop her, but quickly withdrew. "I know retirement and your brain don't agree, but since you're here, please tell me you're here as a friend and not a detective."

He leaned back against the headboard and took her hand. "You were my friend when no one would stand up for me anymore. C'mon, get some sleep. I'll stay up and …" He stopped when he saw her eyes. "I'll stay with you. Might as well dream our bad dreams together tonight, right?"


	6. Chapter 6

Eames woke up from a dreamless sleep and found herself curled up in a fetal position on top of the comforter. She was at the edge of the bed; Goren was lying on his back with a hand outstretched so that it reached her shoulder. He took up most of the space bounded by the bed.

She rose out of bed and left Goren sleeping, wondering for a second how well he slept now that he was out of the NYPD and no longer had his mother, Frank, Declan Gage, or Nicole Wallace to worry about, and shuffled into the kitchen, where she found Johnny and Tim talking in hushed tones.

Tim brusquely walked away as soon as he saw his sister-in-law.

"I was trying to explain that he's compounding this a thousand times for you," Johnny said.

"He doesn't want to hear it, and, honestly, I don't blame him."

"Your friend Goren's asleep? I want to talk to you about him."

"I know you think this is just another mental exercise for Bobby, and you're right about one thing, he's not here because Liz was murdered. He's here because someone tried to murder me."

"I get that Mom and Dad and Susan are fawning over his being here, but he's only here for himself. You realize what he's thinking, don't you? He thinks one of _his_ enemies went after you to get to _him_. And that's probably not true. The motive has something to do with Claire Kincaid, but Detective Paranoid in there thinks he's the motive."

Eames' Blackberry beeped, and she picked it up from the table. "You're right," she said, reading the screen. "According to Wheeler, CSU managed to find three partial prints on my car. It took them over a day to find prints because whoever did this was very careful. The partials, when CSU put them together, matched _Overland_. He wired my car to blow up."

"Think timeline, Eames." She turned around and saw Goren, blinking furiously and still waking up, in the doorway to the kitchen.

"What?" she and Johnny both said, with about the same level of exasperation.

"Timeline. Overland planted the bomb."

Eames sat slowly at the kitchen table. "You're right," she said.

"About what?" Johnny demanded.

"I first encountered Overland three days ago, when he was found dead. He planted a bomb in my car before he was killed, obviously, before his case ever hit my detectives' desks. The person Bernard and Lupo are looking for is probably the person who hired Overland to kill _me_."


	7. Chapter 7

"We talked to ADA Kincaid's stepfather." That was the first piece of news that Bernard had for Eames when she returned to work the day after her sister's funeral.

"Drop Overland, it's going to Major Case," she said, sorting through files spread out on her desk. "His murder has nothing whatsoever to do with Kincaid."

"We got the report," Bernard said. "But Kincaid's murder has everything to do with Overland, and her stepfather said he'd like some closure."

"I have to go downtown today and meet with the DA," Eames told him. "I'll ask Mr. McCoy what he wants to do, and if he gives us the okay, we'll reopen the Kincaid case as murder. In the meantime, please lean harder on Peralta. The Chief of D's wants that case handed off to the DA's office as soon as possible."

"Lieutenant, we learned something interesting."

"About Peralta?"

"About Kincaid."

"If it's not relevant, I don't want to hear it."

"Her stepfather told me this, and I'm directly quoting the man here, "in case it's relevant." When Kincaid was killed, she was seven weeks pregnant."

"What does that have to do with …"

"As far as we know right now, it matters because it's the reason they didn't do an autopsy. She wasn't sure yet whether she was going to "have" the baby, and at the time, her mother and stepfather didn't want anyone to know she was pregnant."

"An autopsy would have told us very little, anyway," Eames said. "Please cool it with Kincaid, for now."

"But there _is_ still a murder here, am I right?"

"Maybe it was a coincidence that a hitman was involved in a vehicular manslaughter."

"You don't mean that."

"Let me talk to the DA, and if he gives us the all clear, you and Lupo will be assigned to the Kincaid murder."

Half an hour later, as she rode the 2 train downtown to Centre Street, she thought of Goren, who was holed up in her apartment for a few days, sleeping on the couch and spreading his notes all over the kitchen table as she toyed with the idea of recommending that Major Case hire him as a consultant on her sister's murder case. What bothered her, though, was the possibility that his work and newly forged family connections in Pennsylvania had not done enough to exorcise old demons. Was he pursuing the case because his friend's sister had been killed and he felt obligated to protect his friend, or was he pursuing the case because of a delusion that one of his enemies had risen from the dead and was going after his former partner in order to punish him?

She composed herself before walking into McCoy's office.

"Lieutenant," he said, offering her a warm, uncomplicated smile. "Mike Cutter tells me that your detectives and Major Case now believe that Overland's murder had nothing to do with Claire."

"That's right," Eames said, settling into the leather couch beneath a window that afforded a view of the minor skylines of northeast New Jersey. "However, Overland's history as Lawrence Teel – and his fingerprints on my car – does suggest that Ms. Kincaid was not simply the victim of an unfortunate traffic accident. Her stepfather has requested that we reopen the case as murder."

"I agree." McCoy let out a heavy sigh, then rose from his desk and sat with Eames on the couch. "We should have picked up on this fifteen years ago. I'll send the files from Ms. Kincaid's cases over to your squad."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you." McCoy pressed his right elbow into his knee and stared at Eames for a moment. "I'm sorry about your sister."

"They were after me, you know."

"And you're sure there's no connection –"

"There's no evidence of one."

"What did Mac tell you about his beloved stepdaughter?"

"What do you mean?"

"He and Claire's mother blamed me. The last time they spoke to me was at the funeral, to remind me that their daughter would still be alive if I hadn't called her to pick me up from a bar that night."

Eames swallowed hard. "Not unlike how my brother-in-law feels about me right now."

McCoy nodded. "I assume he told you about Claire's pregnancy."

"Yes," Eames said, not wanting to let him in on the fact that Bernard and Lupo had questioned Claire's stepfather and that three people outside McCoy's circle now knew the truth.

"My daughter, too, she refused to see me, saying I must have made life hell for Claire, not wanting to have another child when I was already almost fifty years old and then getting her killed when I called her to pick me up."

Eames was surprised to see tears brimming in the District Attorney's eyes.

"I understand," she said, shivering slightly.

He placed a hand over her closed fist. "Years down the line, you'll understand why it's wrong to blame yourself, but every once in a while, you'll still blame yourself anyway."

Connie Rubirosa interrupted the moment when she opened the door, and McCoy withdrew his hand.

"Jack, we have a request we want to run by you," Rubirosa explained. "Something about it sounds off. A crime lab employee called the EADA's office requesting copies of all our prosecution files on Nicole Wallace. Mike and I thought at first that it was just some Court-TV-watching serial killer fanatic, but he faxed over actual credentials."

Eames groaned.


	8. Chapter 8

"Go home."

Goren didn't seem surprised at his former partner's demand. He smiled sheepishly at her.

"Bobby, this isn't funny. If you're going to pursue the Nicole Wallace angle, you'll kill the real investigation. Even if we do find a suspect, a defense attorney will be able to use your arguments as a source of reasonable doubt."

"You think like a captain now," he said gently, moving closer.

"Lieutenant."

"There are markers of –"

"She's dead, Bobby. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead."

"In 1993, when she was Ben Stone's assistant, Claire Kincaid prosecuted Lina Haller, who had previously lived in Australia with a sheep farmer named Nicole Wallace. This was about a year after Nicole escaped from prison in Thailand, and a year before she gave birth to the daughter she'd eventually kill."

"Coincidence. And I thought you said the attempt to kill me had nothing to do with –"

"I'm – I'm changing my mind," he said, and he started to pace.

"Stop that."

He didn't, until he began speaking frantically with his hands, or, rather, his arms. "Lina gets sentenced to twenty years for attempted murder. Then, three years later, thanks to our justice system, she goes up for parole. McCoy and Kincaid fight tirelessly to make sure her parole is denied, and a week after the decision, Kincaid's dead."

"There's no proof," Eames began.

"This is much, much better than conjecture. In 2001, Lina Haller was released. She turned up dead in Oxford, England."

"Hm." Eames flopped down on the couch. "Where Professor Elizabeth Hitchens – a.k.a. Nicole Wallace – was teaching American literature."

Goren sat with her, took a breath in order to calm himself down, and, with some hesitation, put an arm around her. Eames settled into the semi-hug, knowing that moments later, she was going to have to try to kick him out again. She could not enable his delusions about Nicole Wallace.

"You're going to tell me to go home again," Goren guessed, leaning back to look up at the ceiling.

She touched his cheek. "All we now know is that McCoy and Kincaid's prosecution of Lina Haller's murder might be what led to Kincaid's death, and if that's true, Wallace is probably the one who hired Overland back then. And it's plausible, because she might have known him in England. But she couldn't have hired him to kill me, because she's dead, and we have conclusive proof of that."

Goren closed his eyes and drew in a slow, shaky breath. "You think I'm still broken."

"I'm worried you're –"

"No, no, that's all right," he said, standing up. When Eames stood with him, he leaned down and kissed her lips quickly, a memory of that one night when they were lovers, not partners problematically dependent on one another. "I'll show myself out."

"You'll let this go?" she asked.

He took both of her hands. "I'll go back to work, back to Pennsylvania."

"You'll let this go?" she repeated.

He looked down, still holding on to her hands. "I accept that even Nicole Wallace cannot walk this earth without a heart."


	9. Chapter 9

Rebecca McCoy was walking through a suburban Los Angeles park, pushing her six-month-old son's stroller in front of her, when she felt a pinprick between two of her ribs.

Her hands lost their grip on the stroller handles and she fell to the concrete. No one was around, at least not yet.

"Rebecca." Her vision was blurred, her breathing was strained, but her intellectual functions seemed to remain intact. "Rebecca, are you with me?"

"Unh."

"Tell your daddy that he _never_ should have kept Lina from the parole board. I needed her. For a few more years, at least. Take care, Rebecca."

She heard yelling in the background and then everything went dark.

Rebecca woke up in a hospital room and immediately asked about her son, who, fortunately, had not been touched. When she was feeling a bit more alert and breathing better, a detective came in to tell her she'd been injected with a paralytic. The assailant had only depressed the syringe halfway, and that was why she was still alive.

"Do you remember what she looked like?" the detective asked.

"No," Rebecca said, "not really. My vision was blurred. I think she was blonde, medium height."

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"She threatened me because of my father, who's the Manhattan District Attorney. Something about … Lina? He never should have kept Lina from the parole board? I think that's what she said."

"Okay, we'll get in touch with your father."

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and thought for a moment. "Her accent was almost perfect British Received Pronounciation."

"Hm?" the detective said.

"I'm a speech therapist."

"Oh. Maybe you can give us a description …?"

"Yes, yes, actually, I noticed that she had a clear, standard, almost too-perfect upper-class London accent, but at one point, she said, "Reh-bee-ca.""

"You'll have to explain for us, Ms. McCoy."

"Reh-bee-ca," she repeated. "Oceania? Australia or New Zealand, maybe."


	10. Chapter 10

AN: I'm keeping my promise to complicate this story ridiculously. ;)

* * *

Eames was somewhat surprised when the Manhattan District Attorney walked into her office at nine o'clock in the morning. "Wheeler called me last night," she said.

"Alex, what do we do about this?"

"You should ask Major Case how they're handling it."

The desperation in his eyes did not match his role as DA. Was he seeking emotional support, too? Eames wondered. She had no more of that to offer.

"My daughter gave the LAPD a description that matches that of a serial killer who is circumstantially associated with Overland and who you brought in to Major Case four times."

"And who is, definitively, dead."

"I understand that. But I need an explanation for what happened to my daughter." Now his face was sour. "What do we do? Tell me what we need to do, and my office will put its resources fully behind you."

"What _Major Case_ needs to do," Eames said, scribbling a note to remind herself to call Wheeler as soon as McCoy left, "is conclusively rule out Nicole Wallace by finding a body. I guess in this case, a heart is not enough evidence that there's a body out there somewhere."

"Mike Cutter tells me that a detective at Manhattan SVU was involved in a case where fake DNA was planted at a scene." McCoy paused to remove a receipt from his trenchcoat. "My flight leaves in two hours. I should head out to JFK soon."

"There's a difference between faking trace DNA at a crime scene and faking a _heart_."

Despite his needing to leave for the airport, McCoy sank into a chair and placed his head between his hands. "I don't know what to do," he said. "No one has ever attacked a member of my family before. Rebecca always felt safe. Now this person goes after her while she's with my grandson, and I find out that Claire was killed because of a woman we put away."

"This won't make it better, but no one has ever gone after my family, either," Eames said. "We are dealing with a sociopath here."

"A heartless sociopath."

She let out a puff of air through her nose. "Sure, you could say that."

"How's your nephew?" McCoy asked. It was almost funny how familiar they'd become in the last two weeks.

"I'm going to see him tonight," she answered.

"With a police escort, I hope."

"My brother, his wife, and I on the Staten Island Ferry, with a police escort."

"Good." He nodded in approval and stood up again. "I'm off to see my daughter. Take good care of yourself, Alex."

"I will. You too."

McCoy went for the door, then gave her a strange look before he left.

Later, Bernard, in an interesting mood after a long shift, would tease her: "I think the D.A.'s got a thing for you, Loo."


	11. Chapter 11

Hey, guys, hold tight -- plot twists abound. No one ever said it would be easy. ;)

* * *

Tim gave Johnny and Marisol a "you brought _her_?" look when he saw the woman who had carried his only child to term standing in the doorway to his house. Nathan, who had just turned seven, followed his father and gave his aunt the cold shoulder. Eames never knew that young children were capable of such things.

"I thought you might like to know where we are on the case," she said.

"Detective Wheeler is keeping me up-to-date, thank you."

"Alex has been working closely with the district attorney, and knows a lot about where the investigation's going," Johnny offered.

"Look," Tim said, and Eames felt her heart rise up into her throat, "I get that you aren't really to blame for this, but my son now has no mother, I will never see my wife again, and I'm having a lot of trouble being in the same room with you right now."

Eames closed her eyes and nodded. Wordlessly, she stood up.

"Where are you going?" Johnny asked.

"I'll take the bus back to the ferry." She chided herself for letting her voice crack. "I'll notify the escort and he'll come with me."

No "I'm sorry" from Tim. No "stay" from anyone. She returned home at nine o'clock and turned on the TV, hoping to tune out her own thoughts. Maybe Goren would call. Maybe he'd listen, and promise her that Liz's death wasn't her fault.

There were two phone calls that night. The first was from Jack McCoy. He wanted to know how she was feeling. She wound up telling him all about Tim and Nate and Staten Island.

McCoy drew in a breath on the other end of the line, the other end of the country. "I told you, the blame is the hardest part," he said. "I wish you didn't have to go through what I went through. It may get worse." Funny how Hang 'Em High McCoy could be such a puppy outside the courtroom.

"How's your daughter?"

"Shaken up, but recovering. The detectives here think that whoever did this didn't intend to kill her. He or she was sending a message to me."

"Hm. See, Wallace never had that particular M.O. No one ever survived one of her attacks."

"And besides, she's dead."

"That's right," Eames said, reminding herself that there was no way to fake a heart.

She said goodnight to McCoy and went back to the TV. Minutes later, a second call came in.

"Alex? It's Megan Wheeler."

"Oh … Megan … tell me there's a break in the case."

"Sorry, nothing yet. We could use your help, though. Actually …"

"You could use Robert Goren's help?" she suggested.

"Given that the M.O. slightly resembles Nicole Wallace's –"

"Right, I was just telling Jack McCoy that Wallace always went for the kill."

"We want to find a body. A heart should be enough, but we need to conclusively rule Wallace out because of the association with Overland. My partner and I will search for the real killer, but to really make the case, Wallace's body needs to be found."

"Because without it, a defense attorney will be able to convince a jury that she faked a heart and cast reasonable doubt on the real suspect. What do you need?"

"If anyone can find Wallace's body …"

"You'll hire him as a temporary consultant?"

"I have my captain's permission."

Eames smiled sadly. "Ross would have said "no way," you know."

"No," Wheeler said. "He'd have said "no way," then you'd have pleaded with him for a few days, and then he'd have agreed to let us hire Goren."

The next afternoon, Goren temporarily returned to the Major Case Squad.


	12. Chapter 12

Fair warning: Eames/McCoy (kinda) for the next few chapters. It's all part of the plot. In any case, thanks for the reviews and enthusiastic response!  


* * *

Eames felt an uneasy familiarity when she exited the elevator on the fifth floor of One Police Plaza the next evening. She received a few "hello"s and "long time no see"s, but it was clear that there had been a major turnover at Major Case. Nichols and his new partner had taken over her and Goren's old desks, and Wheeler was confined to a corner somewhere.

She shivered when she saw the captain's office. Every so often, she'd be reminded that Danny Ross was dead; it was so unreal that she'd sometimes forget, just like it was with her sister.

"I'm still digesting it too." Wheeler laid a hand on Eames' shoulder. "It's not the same around here," she added softly.

"Are you staying?" Eames whispered. "You're the last bastion of Ross's old squad."

Wheeler shrugged. "Major Case and single motherhood don't agree, especially when –"

A tall, curly-haired woman stopped in front of them. "Lieutenant Alexandra Eames," Wheeler said, straightening her small frame, "Captain Sarah Brooks."

"Very nice to meet you," Eames said, stretching out her hand.

Brooks accepted the handshake. "We've got Goren in the interview room," she said, quickly and cheerily. "He's going through Declan Gage's papers and everything else they found in his apartment."

"Thank you," Eames said, and she and Wheeler walked towards the interview room.

"Just like old times," Wheeler said, half-joking. "I'll leave you alone. Let me know if he finds anything."

"Sure. Thanks, Megan. And if you're looking to transfer, I'll see if I can help you out."

Wheeler gave a quick nod and returned to her desk. Goren, meanwhile, was sitting with his arms and hands spread out so that only his fingertips rested on the table. He stared at Declan Gage's notes.

"_Where_ did he kill her?" Goren wondered out loud.

"Hey. Thanks for doing this for Wheeler."

"I'm not doing it for Wheeler," he said, not looking up.

She sat down next to him and very lightly touched his forearm. "I appreciate it," she said. "I know dealing with Wallace is not the easiest task for you, even if she is undeniably dead."

"If she were undeniably dead, Eames, they wouldn't need me to help prove that she's undeniably dead." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Gage killed her at his house. His notes suggest that she was there when they made their plans to kill Frank. I – this says – I think he buried her on his property." He looked at Eames as if seeking permission to continue with his theory, a habit he'd developed after his experience undercover in an upstate prison's mental ward.

"We'll tell the captain. I'll see if I can get some of my off-duty officers to help the cadets dig."

"Good," Goren said, finally breathing out. He looked up at his onetime partner, who now stood above him. "We're okay?"

"We're okay, Bobby. Let's get digging."


	13. Chapter 13

By nine o'clock in the evening, a team of CSU officers, off-duty patrolmen and women from the 27th precinct, and a handful of cadets had dug up most of the garden behind the three-family house in Brooklyn where Declan Gage had rented an apartment shortly before his and Nicole Wallace's deaths. "Nothing!" an officer shouted for the hundredth time that hour.

Goren shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the scene, disappointed at the holes and overturned blocks of cement in front of him.

His eyes suddenly flashed. "Eames, Eames," he said, walking briskly towards her.

Eames tried to shrug away the chill in the air. "You found something?" she asked.

"She's not here. I need –" He paused to point at her, swallow hard, and catch his train of thought. "I need permission to have a body exhumed."

Wheeler, who had been listening from a distance, quickly joined in the conversation. "Excuse me?" she said.

Goren ignored her. "Stop!" he shouted. "Everybody stop! She's not here!"

An exasperated-looking Sarah Brooks joined them as well. "Where is she, then?"

Goren turned to Eames. "Can you help?" he asked.

"This is Detective Wheeler's case."

"I apologize, Detective," Goren said, turning to face Wheeler. He was struggling to remain deferent and not use Eames as a crutch. Four years ago, he was quirky, maybe a bit disconcerting, but at least he was independent. Eames was certain that Declan Gage had struck the last blow to the self-assured, amusing side of Goren that used to make her smile. But there was no time tonight to mourn the man she'd once known.

"Gage would have wanted all of my demons buried in the same place," Goren continued. "That's what he thought he was doing, burying my demons. I was at Frank's funeral, so I know Gage couldn't have buried Nicole with Frank. I'm now convinced that he buried Nicole with his daughter, Jo."

"Okay, it's a good thought," Brooks said. "I'll call …"

"I think I can get us permission to exhume that body within the hour," Eames offered.

"That's right," Wheeler said, explaining the situation to the captain. "Her squad is working the Claire Kincaid murder, so she's got a direct line to the DA."

Eames called McCoy at home. "Jack, it's Alex Eames," she said when he picked up.

"Is everything all right?"

"There's a break on the other side of the Overland case, the side involving my sister and your daughter. We need permission to exhume a body."

"Okay." She heard rustling on the other end of the line, and knew that he was taking notes. "Tell me what you need, Alex."

She filled McCoy in on their current status. "I'll call a judge in Brooklyn who I've been working with on another case," he promised. "You'll have your order within the hour. Tell the crew to head to the cemetery and wait."

"Thank you so much, Jack," she said, breathless from the cold air. She snapped her cell phone shut and told Brooks to have the crew wait at the cemetery where Jo Gage was buried. "My two-seven people can all go home," she added.

Goren, she noticed, was looking at her sideways.


	14. Chapter 14

Goren's look became even more quizzical two hours later, when, shortly after the cadets began digging at Jo Gage's gravesite, the Manhattan District Attorney, a man forever being torn apart in the press, swept in to the cemetery on a motorcycle.

"I thought I should be here," McCoy said, not explaining why.

"Detectives!" a cadet shouted.

"I missed that name," Goren joked.

"Me too," Eames said.

"Sure you do, Lieutenant."

She quickly turned to McCoy. "You should hang back," she said. "This might not be pleasant for a civilian."

Upon approaching the grave, Eames saw a skeleton with some flesh still clinging to it laying atop Jo Gage's closed coffin. "We're going to call in one of the Feds' forensic anthropologists and confirm that this is Nicole Wallace," Brooks assured them.

"It's her," Goren said, heaving his shoulders. He pointed to the ribcage, backing away as though he were trying to keep a safe distance from Wallace's bones. "The ribs are cracked and cut. Her heart was removed before decomp began. Go ahead and get your confirmation from the Feds' scientists, but this is her."

"Now we can move on," Eames said, adding a quick "with the investigation" so that Goren wouldn't think she was patronizing him.

"Hey." He rested a large, open hand on Eames' back. "I'm going home."

"Home?"

"Pennsylvania. I'm not needed here."

"Bobby, at least …"

He stared down at her, and she was reminded of the nearly-demonless – at least in his interactions with her – Goren she knew years ago. "Nicole Wallace is dead."

"So when you said you weren't here for Wheeler, you meant you were here for yourself."

"No. If Nicole had hired Overland, I'd have been the only person who could have protected you from her." He flinched, as if realizing the implications of what he'd just said.

"I can protect myself just fine," she said, tilting her head towards Jo Gage's gravestone.

Goren closed his eyes. "I didn't mean it that way." He pressed his hand to her back again. "Come here. I'll explain." He led her to a slightly more secluded area.

"I have to go home," he said, "because I'm asking myself whether in spite of her bones and her heart, Nicole Wallace is still alive. Ego dystonia: I know I'm wrong, but it terrifies me to think that she could fake a heart and a skeleton."

"You spent too many years chasing her."

"If there's anyone I'd stay in New York for, it's you."

Part of her was still too furious at him for going undercover without telling her for her to say, "Then stay." She wanted to be able to trust him and was still going back and forth in her mind on that issue.

"I'm not a good friend anymore and I haven't been a good friend for the last two years," Goren continued. "You understand that."

"You're saying …"

He rubbed his forehead with a closed fist. "We don't talk about what happened that night, Alex, but if we were together, my problems would make you miserable. Stop trying to stick it out with me. You deserve better."

Eames looked away. "Take care of yourself, Bobby. I mean that."

"I'm doing that," he assured her, and hugged her goodbye.

She knew he'd be back, because Goren could never stay out of her life for very long. Though it seemed that lately, he only returned for the tragedies.

He drove away as the Major Case Squad began to package what was left of Wallace. McCoy approached Eames slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What for?" she asked.

He offered half a shrug. "For whatever it was that happened."

"Detective Goren will be fine."

"And you?"

"I am waiting to find out who killed my sister."

His eyes demonstrated extreme concern. "They will," he promised.

"Detectives Bernard and Lupo have collected some evidence regarding Claire's murder," she told him. "It looks like every party involved – Lina Haller, Roger Overland, and Nicole Wallace – is now dead. I wish we could pursue it further."

"There's no point in revenge." McCoy's voice cracked in the cold air. "Have you had dinner?"

"No lunch, no dinner today," she said, noticing that she was hungry and lightheaded. "We'll get something, and I'll update you on what Bernard and Lupo found."


	15. Chapter 15

Within the hour, Eames was sitting in Jack McCoy's kitchen with a box of Mei Fun and a glass of white wine.

She'd picked up on the possibility that McCoy was pursuing her romantically the day he burst into her office before leaving for Los Angeles. Now she was in his apartment, thinking that even though he was nearly two decades older than she was, he could be absolutely _charming_.

On the other hand, she still felt a strange loyalty to Goren, and knew that if they were able to be one another's closest friends again, it would be Goren and Eames against the world. They'd protect each other from themselves.

On the other hand, she was trying to teach her teenage nieces – Susan's daughters – that despite what they saw in the movies, _good_ relationships were not dramatic.

On the other hand, she remembered how sweet Goren had been, without a care in the world, that night they'd spent together. And how surprisingly – _good_ – they'd been together.

But that was four, maybe five, hands.

McCoy returned to the kitchen and learned across the counter to smile at Eames. One more "on the other hand," she thought: if they started something tonight and she later decided (given the opportunity) to be with Goren, breaking the D.A.'s heart could not be under any circumstances considered a good career move.

He held her left hand with his and ran his thumb over her fingers. With some hesitation but still somehow all the confidence in the world, he kissed her lips, then her cheek, then the side of her neck.

Five or six years ago, when she'd dated a lot more, she'd have had no problem sleeping with Jack McCoy, simply enjoying the moment. Now everything seemed to be about breaking or making commitments.

The part of her that was in the moment was turned on, the part of her that wasn't was anxious and ready to walk away. Goren had complicated everything – it was so bad that she was thinking (_not_ fantasizing, however) about him while she made out with the D.A. in his kitchen.

"Jack …" she began, but paused to let his hands continue what they were doing for just a few seconds more. "It's not a good night for this."

"I know." He stopped, visibly disappointed, but also giving her a look that suggested he actually thought she was right.

"It's been a strange couple of weeks," she said.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When everything is resolved – with your sister, my daughter, Claire, Robert Goren – maybe then …"

"Yes," she said more confidently than she herself expected.

"It's late," McCoy said, still embracing her. "Do you want to stay? On the couch, I mean. With all that's going on, you shouldn't be out there yourself at night, even with your weapon."

"Sure. Might as well."

They wound up falling asleep together on the couch, in front of the TV, which broadcasted a late-night news show. When she woke up, the clock on the cable box read 3:30, and she'd somehow managed to flop herself across McCoy's chest in her sleep. Somewhat afraid that she'd drooled on his shirt, she decided not to move.

"Jack?" she prompted.

"Hm?" He was semi-awake.

"Since I've still got a little bit of wine and sleep in me, I'm going to be a detective for a minute and ask if your interest in me, romantic or sexual or otherwise, has anything to do with my giving you answers as to how and why your ex-girlfriend died."

"That's not being a detective. That's being a psychologist." He stroked her hair and chuckled to himself, and she dozed off again.


	16. Chapter 16

Eames couldn't get a good look at the woman who attacked her on her way to work two days after she'd spent a – relatively chaste – night with the District Attorney. She saw that the woman wore a blond wig and a black peacoat, but was too busy concentrating on not being killed to pay attention to her attacker's features.

She was on the A train, standing and clutching a pole, when she felt a needle poke her ribs. Immediately, she knew what was happening. It took less than a second for her to realize that because her right arm had gone numb, she couldn't reach for her weapon.

At the end of that first second, she used her left leg to kick her attacker in the shin.

The woman backed up and grabbed Eames by the shoulders. Had Eames not kicked her, the passengers in the subway car would have had no way of knowing that she'd been stabbed with a syringe; the woman had managed to slip the syringe under Eames' coat.

Unable to move her shoulders, Eames used her last bit of strength to throw the attacker off her. As Eames became more and more dizzy, she saw the woman … blurry, faceless … exit at 42nd Street? 34th, maybe? Or were they further downtown? Where … she had to concentrate. There was a needle, probably partially depressed, in her right lung. She had to fall on her left side. She had to –

Briefly, she saw some of her fellow passengers hovering over her. She closed her eyes and wondered whether she'd get to open them again.


	17. Chapter 17

Eames opened her eyes and was relieved to be alive, even though she didn't know where she was.

Her body, especially her legs, shivered uncontrollably. She realized that she was in an OR, and the doctors and nurses were transferring her from the operating table to a hospital bed. Her limbs continued to shake.

"We're going to give you something for that, Alexandra," a nurse said, injecting the contents of a syringe into an IV above Eames' head. Almost immediately, the shivering stopped. She felt blankets piled on top of her, and then woke up again in the recovery room.

"You did very well." Eames wasn't sure if the voice belonged to the same nurse who had been in the OR.

"T-tell me what happened."

"You had surgery for a collapsed lung."

"The p-paralytic …"

"We'll tell you more later. For now, rest."

A few minutes later, she was looking straight up at her father, whose eyes were fearful and weary. "I am so glad to see you," he said, holding his daughter's hand. "You fought her off. She couldn't get the full dose in you –"

"But, Dad, she –"

"So you kept breathing."

"Did they catch her?"

John shook his head. "All that matters …"

"You were on the job forty years. You know if we don't catch her – this was her second attempt – you know it means I'm –"

"Alex!" he said, nearly shouting, earning a few stern looks from the staff. "We're not going to think like that. Sarah Brooks has her whole squad on this now."

"I need Bobby Goren," she said, not yet fully aware of herself.

"Actually, hon, I was going to call him, but, ah, until the surgeon came out and told us you made it through and that they'd only let immediate family see you tonight, D.A. McCoy was in the waiting room with Johnny, Susan, and your mom and me. It's none of my business, but I figured I should hold off on calling Bobby."

She laughed slightly and felt immense pressure on her ribcage. "Dad, it's …"

"None of my business," he repeated.

Later, her mother, brother, and surviving sister greeted her when she was wheeled up to her hospital room. Megan Wheeler was given five minutes to question her. The doctor suggested that everyone leave Eames alone until morning, and only Johnny hung back for a while.

"Hey," she said, softly, seeing he was still in the room, "I love you, kiddo."

He looked at his feet. "You came through."

"This woman has made two attempts on my life so far. Be realistic – she's not going to stop until she gets it right, and if Major Case doesn't get their stuff together, I won't be around much longer. I've got to – what do they call it? – get my affairs in order."

"What do you need?" It was a very reluctant question, but he was a cop, too, and understood human limitations.

"I need you to call Tim and tell him I want to make things right with him and Nate. And I need … can you get in touch with Bobby for me?"

"Goren?" he asked, and she let out another painful laugh.

"Yes, obviously."

"But you're dating the district attorney."

"What?"

"I assumed –"

"Look, right now, I want to see Bobby."

"Susan thinks your relationship with McCoy is creepy, but I don't judge."

"Don't make me laugh. It _hurts_."

"Sorry. I love you too, Alex. I'll make sure you're protected."

"There's only so much all of us can do. Please," she begged. "Call Tim and Bobby for me anyway."


	18. Chapter 18

When she woke up again, the sunlight outside her window told her that it was morning, and Jack McCoy was sitting on a chair by her bed, furiously tapping at his Blackberry. His face lit up when she opened her eyes.

He leaned an elbow on the bed and held her hand. "Good morning," he said, and Eames could see that when he smiled, there were tears in his eyes.

"Jack," was all she said.

He kissed her balmy forehead. "Major Case has been up all night," he told her.

"This woman's not going to stop."

"No, no, there's a detail on your room here, and when you go home …"

"She got me before, didn't she?"

"Shh, don't worry." Now he was stroking her hair, and confusing her again.

"Please don't fall for me," she said. "You've got important things to do for this city. You could run for state D.A. and tear apart New York State's old boys club."

"Given what happened with Governor Shalvoy, I don't know how far I'd get in that department. Alex, you –"

"You can't afford to grieve for another woman."

"What have they got you on?" he said, looking at her morphine drip.

"Okay, see now, that came out a bit melodramatic, but –"

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Let's not concern ourselves with love and war," was his only offer.

"Jack, have you been crying? I swear, Hang 'Em High McCoy, crying over a woman." She heard herself. She really _was_ on a lot of medication, and it was starting to kick in.

"I'd tell you why they _really_ call me Hang 'Em High McCoy, but that'd be entirely inappropriate," he said, his eyes flashing bemusedly.

God, he could be charming. How was she going to explain to him why there was now no way she could be with him at this particular moment in her life ?

"If you knew that there was a good chance you'd die within the week and you could be with anyone from your past one more time, who would it be?" she asked.

"Don't talk like that."

"Just answer me."

"Impossibility aside, Claire Kincaid."

"Okay." She stared up at him.

McCoy looked at her sadly. "Do you really believe …?"

"If Major Case doesn't find a suspect and get it right on the first try, then, yes."

"Then they'll have to get it right on the first try."

"I'll tell you what." She grabbed on to one of McCoy's hands. "If I survive, and if this woman's caught, and if …"

"That's a lot of conditionals."

"If the man I want to be with just one more time before I go doesn't want to be with me … this is an _awful_ contingency plan. I'm sorry, Jack. I'm being unfair to you. I'm sorry."

He placed a hand over the one that was clutching his. "I get that there's someone else. Right now, that doesn't matter. You just need to survive."

"Thanks, that means a lot." She was terrified of what the near future held.

"It's okay," he said, seeing that she was beginning to drift off as the painkillers kicked in. "I will always consider you a friend. You don't have to worry about my office making things difficult for your precinct, you don't …"

"Thank you for understanding," she mumbled. She knew that she was breaking his heart on several levels.


	19. Chapter 19

Three days later, Johnny took her home from the hospital. She was half-surprised, half-thankful to learn that Goren was waiting for them at the apartment.

"Bobby," she said, breathlessly. It had been a long four days and she was glad to be somewhere familiar, even though fear and despair were still swirling around in her stomach.

"How're you feeling?" he asked with a sad smile.

Eames simply shrugged. "Let's get you over to the couch," Johnny said, and he helped her shuffle across the room. She coughed and winced in pain, wishing she had her usual strength.

Goren's sloping eyes revealed that he too knew that they didn't have much time to find the woman who had been posing as Nicole Wallace. "Do you want to lie down?" Johnny asked. "You look like you could use a few hours of sleep."

Eames shook her head. "I'm exhausted, but it's easier for me to sleep if I'm sitting up." Carefully, she sat down and lifted her legs up onto the couch. Johnny set three pillows behind her back so that she could semi-comfortably sit up, and, even though she'd planned to fill Goren in on the case, she dozed off within minutes.

When she woke up, she didn't know how much time had passed, but she could hear her brother and her former partner talking in the kitchen. She closed her eyes and pretended that she was still asleep.

"Her take on the situation is … realistic," she heard Goren say.

"But she's Alex. She escaped from that Gage woman, scaled a goddamn wall doing it, and she fought off this attack …"

"And, for the next few weeks, she'll be too weak to fight off another."

She struggled to hear their hushed voices, but only heard them exchange goodbyes. Johnny said he'd see them tomorrow. When he was gone, Goren leaned over Eames and said, "you've been awake the entire time?"

"Most of it," she said hoarsely.

"Wheeler, and Brooks, and the whole squad –"

"You're staying tonight?"

"What?"

"I can't move around by myself. This is frustrating."

"I was planning to. To stay, I mean. I'm sorry, Eames."

"Alex?" she prodded, trying to adopt a teasing tone.

"Alex," he said.

"Joe died alone and scared and bleeding."

"Your eyes are glassy. The painkillers are still sending messages to your brain. Don't say anything you'll regret."

"I'd have done things a lot differently if I knew I only had twenty-four more hours with him."

"Eames, please stop preparing for the worst."

"You just told Johnny I'm right."

"No, no," he said, not at all in a reassuring manner, but with his voice flailing wildly across the two syllables.

"I think you were wrong, by the way. Even if this woman is trying to copycat Nicole Wallace, she was never trying to get to you. It's me she's after, and not because – not because of what I am to you."

"What can you eat? We should order dinner. You have a menu from the diner up the block on your fridge."

She let him change the subject for a few minutes, because she was in fact hungry. He took her weapon with him to the door when the deliveryman rang the bell. "Huge department violation," she muttered at him when he helped her to the kitchen table. Yet she couldn't help smiling as Goren stooped to put an arm around her waist so that she could keep her balance as she shuffled across the linoleum floor.

He broached the subject again as they ate. "Given means, motive, and opportunity," he said, flashing a sideways smile, "you'd be with a paranoid ex-detective with bad genetics who has completely let himself go during the last couple of years and who has let you down over and over again because of his own self-absorbed paranoia?"

"Apology accepted."

Goren frantically tapped his left foot and his whole leg shook. "There is an officer on your steps and another circling the block," he said, "but I will stay as long as you need me to."

"Not for protection. If she wants me, she'll get me. Stay for …"

"Companionship?"

"Yes."

"Uh, I shouldn't bring this up," he stammered, "but –"

"McCoy?"

"Johnny told me."

She could feel a broad, sarcastic smile forming on her face. "You mean you badgered it out of Johnny, who makes up for the fact that he hasn't made detective by sticking his nose in other people's business. There's nothing going on between me and Jack."

Goren tilted his head to one side.

"You're _interrogating_ me," she said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Okay, there was _almost_ something going on between Jack and I, but given the means, motive, and opportunity, I'd rather have you around."

"Good," he said, and she could tell he was nervous. He clutched her hand. "Good," he repeated. "We've got to have each other around, right, Alex?"


	20. Chapter 20

When Eames started to fall asleep again, Goren sat on the floor with his back leaning against the couch. She laid back a bit further, resting her head against the three pillows so that she was on her back at a 45 degree angle. Her right hand was draped over his shoulder, and he pressed it to his heart.

If they didn't find the Nicole Wallace double soon, he'd lose Eames, the woman who'd acquired a taste for him in spite of his offbeat investigational style and the personal demons that just wouldn't stop piling up. There was no point in pushing her away now.

He didn't sleep. At two a.m., after three hours of sitting and staring, he felt Eames' fingers twitch.

"What if," she said, her voice now thick with the fluids that her lungs were trying to expel, "Nicole Wallace faked her own death?"

"There's no "then" when the "if" makes no sense," he said.

"I was just playing the game," she said sleepily.

"What if," he suggested, "the woman who is trying to kill you _wants to be_ Nicole Wallace?"

"If she was genuinely trying to be another Wallace rather than looking to throw us off the track, she'd have stayed away from me as soon as the rumors about me and McCoy started circulating. She'd have thought she couldn't get to you through me anymore."

"What's clear now is, she was after you all along, and it never had anything to do with who you were in bed with." He pressed his lips together and uncomfortably shifted his position on the floor. "Sorry."

"Sure, Bobby."

"So, who have you put away that's capable of something like this."

"You and I have put away quite a few characters."

"But this woman's smart. Not as smart as Nicole, but smart enough to almost kill you twice, convince us she was Nicole risen from the dead, and not get caught."

At least two full minutes passed as Eames thought. "Oh my God," she said suddenly.

Goren turned around, stood up quickly, and switched on a table lamp. "What's wrong?" was his first question.

"Mala Marsden."

"Who?"

"One of Bernard Fremont's 'girlfriends.' I spoke at her parole hearing about a week after I started at the two-seven. Her parole was denied, and she doesn't get another hearing for five years. The warden called me two months ago to tell me that Mala had been killed by her cellmate. Bobby …"

"Now _you're_ suggesting that a criminal faked her own death? Eames, you sound like me."

"She has a vendetta against me and a connection to Nicole Wallace. Her partnership with Fremont would have given her the "training" to pull this off."

"And she was jealous of Nicole because Bernard was still in love with her. He wanted all of his women to look like Nicole, remember? She wanted to become Nicole, anyway. This allowed her to do this, get revenge on you, and throw all of us off the track."

"I'll wake up Wheeler," Eames said, struggling to sit so that she could reach her cell phone.

Goren helped her by placing an arm behind her back. "You realize," he told her as they were still caught in the half-embrace, "that once she knows –" He cut himself off.

"What?"

"Forget it."

"You were going to say that once Mala figures out that Major Case is on to her, it'll be absolutely imperative to her that she kills me."

"Well, if …" He turned his head away. "If Mala's crazy enough to believe that, yes."


	21. Chapter 21

"Okay." Wheeler pressed two fingers to her forehead as she walked into Sarah Brooks' office, where Robert Goren had already made himself comfortable. Brooks had also asked Nichols and his partner to participate in this meeting; they needed as many minds as possible on this, Brooks had told them. And besides, she couldn't allow Goren to draw a double paycheck from the NYPD again.

"Yes, Detective Wheeler?" Brooks said, raising her eyes from her desk.

"Even with a rush on DNA, it'll take a week. However," she said, tossing her notebook at her boss, "Marsden's cellmate confessed to stealing a body from the prison infirmary's morgue. Two C.O.'s are now under arrest. This took _sixteen hours_ of questioning."

'Does she know that we know the truth?" Nichols asked calmly.

"I have no way of knowing that. Look, I want to help strategize, but I have to get home."

"Give us one more hour," Goren pleaded. "You're been with the case since Liz Eames was killed. We need you."

"My nine-month-old hasn't seen me in three days."

"Go home, Detective Wheeler," Brooks told her.

"And," Wheeler continued, facing Goren, "you don't want to know what I think."

"You have an idea, then."

"I'm worried that the only way we can proceed is to lure Mala Marsden out into the open, and the only way to do that is to dangle Lieutenant Eames in front of her."

Goren leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The only way to catch Mala is to use Eames as bait."

"And it makes sense because –"

"Mala has come very close to killing Eames twice."

"And how else are we going to find someone who is, for all legal intents and purposes, dead?"

"When is the next time Eames will be out of the house?" Brooks asked.

"Three days," Goren said. "She has an appointment with the pulmonologist."

"We'd put too many people at risk by trying to catch Mala at a hospital," Brooks said.

"It's his private office. Three-story office building with an accessible, flat roof."

"There are still a lot of legal hoops we'll have to jump through, but I think we can set this up."

"Will Eames go for it?" Wheeler asked.

"Our best bet is to have Eames show up with a family member and a police escort," Goren said. "The escort will drop them off as if they had no idea that Mala might follow her into the building."

"We have to plan this _meticulously_," Brooks said, "or both Eames and whoever goes with her are in serious danger."

Wheeler flopped into an empty chair. "All right. You've got me for two more hours."


	22. Chapter 22

The doorbell rang at five P.M., and Eames wondered if it was Goren, who she hadn't heard from all day. She was waiting for him to tell her that Major Case planned to use her as bait to catch Mala Marsden, because she'd already determined that that was the only way to stop Mala.

John Eames, who had spent the day with his wife and daughter, answered the door. Johnny and his wife entered the living room, and they were followed cautiously by Tim and Nathan.

"How're you feeling?" Johnny asked his sister.

Eames smiled and relaxed her shoulders, wishing away the tears stinging her eyes. "Better than I was four days ago."

"Do you have a suspect?" Tim asked suddenly.

"I can't fill you in just yet."

"Don't I deserve to know who killed my wife?" Tim shuddered, realizing that he'd forgotten that his son was still present. The boy stared up at his aunt, silent.

"C'mon, Nate," Cathy said, leading her grandson out of the room.

"She's trying to kill me because I'm the reason she was denied parole," Eames explained.

Tim nodded. "Then how …"

"Escaped from prison two months ago. We'll find out what's next when Bobby gets home."

"I don't know how I'll ever get over Liz being collateral damage in someone's attempt to get to you, but you gave us our son, Alex, and if not for him, I don't know where I'd be right now." The apology that Tim was forcing himself to make was enough for now.

Goren returned to the apartment half an hour later, and was a bit flustered to find so many Eameses gathered in one place again. "DNA is still pending," he said, "but Wheeler got confessions out of the two C.O.'s who were involved. We know who we're after."

Before Eames could ask what was next, her sister Susan burst in through the front door (Goren immediately chided himself for leaving the door open, given the situation), her oversized purse flung over her shoulder and her salt-and-pepper colored hair frazzled in twelve different directions. "What is this?" she asked, looking at the crowd that had formed in her sister's living room. "It's like we're at Alex's wake."

A few Eameses snapped "Susan!" while the rest, including Goren, drew in their breaths.

"So," Eames said, "what happens next?"

"Should everyone be here for this?" John asked.

"Yes," Goren said, not looking at John, but staring down at his former partner instead. "It's better that you all find out here. Otherwise there'll be too much chatter on the telephone, and we don't know how far Mala will go. Susan, you're taking Alex to the pulmonologist on Thursday."

"Right," Susan said. She looked up suddenly. "Wait … are you saying you want _me_ to be part of some kind of undercover operation?"

"The police escort will drop you and Alex off at the door. Mala will, if anything, see that as a simple error in judgement. Then you'll make a second error in judgement, Susan, and you'll walk away, leaving Alex at the door. Our guys – Major Case's guys – will be on the roof and in the stairwell. Mala will believe that Alex is not protected, and –"

"Let me go instead," Johnny offered. "I don't like the idea of sending both of my sisters out at the same time like that."

"Either way, only one Eames sibling survives," Susan said with her usual level of tact.

"Look," Goren said, running a hand through his graying wavy hair, "if you go, Johnny, Mala will see this as a setup. She can't be with another cop."

"I'll go," Tim offered.

"There was a silence while everyone in the Eames family turned to stare at Tim.

"You sure?" John asked.

"What about Nate?" Eames asked, alarmed by her brother-in-law's offer.

"I will be fine," Tim insisted. "Let me make up for the grief I gave you, all right, Alex?"

Eames searched her brother's and sister's eyes for an answer, but there was no response from either of them. When she looked at Goren, he simply shrugged as if to say, "might as well."


	23. Chapter 23

The District Attorney gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he burst into Sarah Brooks' office at One Police Plaza. Goren and Wheeler were in the office too, and McCoy knew he'd come in at the right time.

"Captain Brooks," he said, straightening his gray sportcoat and struggling to keep himself from flying off the handle. "My people tell me that you're planning an operation involving Lieutenant Eames."

Goren took this as a cue to stand. "Why does the district attorney's office know?" he demanded.

"We had to secure permissions from doctors," Brooks explained, "and because there are also patients in that building, I had to clear the operation with the D.A.'s office. Protocol. I spoke to Michael Cutter this morning."

"And he told _you_, Mr. McCoy," Goren guessed, "because he thought you'd have an interest in the case."

"My office _will not support_ your using an NYPD lieutenant as bait to catch a killer."

Brooks went to speak, but Goren interrupted her. "Excuse me, Captain," he said, almost-but-not-quite deferent. "Mr. McCoy, you are a well-educated man. You understand the concept of relative risk, don't you? The chances that Lieutenant Eames will be killed are much greater if we do nothing. So –"

"How can you be sure of that?" McCoy's anger had not subsided. "Where's your proof? You know for _certain_ that Alex will be killed if she's not used as bait?"

"I promise you," Wheeler said, "this is not the same as using a civilian as "bait," as you call it. And we've been working 24-7 to set this operation up."

McCoy pointed a finger at Brooks. "My office _will_ stop your operation in its tracks," he threatened. He marched out, composing himself as he walked through the squad room to the elevator.

He heard a loud sigh behind him. Goren had followed him out.

"If you stop us," Goren explained, his voice now much softer than it had been in Brooks' office, "you are putting Alex in more danger."

"Tell me something, Detective Goren, how much danger have _you_ put Alex in?"

Goren let out an uneasy laugh that had nothing to do with humor. "We have no choice but to go forward with this," he said. "Captain Brooks will back me up." Now his voice began to flail a bit. "If you stop her squad and Eames from moving forward, then whatever happens to her, that's on you."

McCoy's eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted as he tried to find the right words, but at that moment, the elevator doors opened, and he had no words for Goren. He simply shook his head in frustration.

Later that afternoon, Connie Rubirosa walked into McCoy's office and found him staring into space. "Jack?" she prodded.

"What?" His voice cracked on the single word.

"I'm here for our meeting. I was supposed to update you on the five cases that are going to trial."

"Leave it for tomorrow," he said hoarsely.

She looked down at him, concerned. "Bad news?" she asked.

"I hope not," he answered.


	24. Chapter 24

She dreamed that she was a guest at her own wake, and woke up remembering the dream's general theme but few details.

Her eyes shot open and she felt ice cold streaks of sweat soaking the sheets and the comforter. Eames was alone, propped up on four pillows resting against the headboard because it still hurt too much to lie down flat.

She slid out of bed, legs first, afraid she'd panic again if she tried to go back to sleep right away. Walking down the narrow hallway to the living room, she saw the shadow of the couch and the outline of a sleeping Bobby Goren.

Part of her wanted to wake him up as if she were a child waking up her parents to tell them about a bad dream, but Lieutenant Alex Eames knew that it was crucial for her to be strong. Still, her body was shaking.

Goren woke up mid-snore. "Al—Alex?" he said, sitting up and staring at the shadow near the couch.

"I needed a glass of water," she said, walking towards the kitchen."

"I'll –"

"Let me do it myself, Bobby. If I don't do things for myself, I'll never get better."

Goren switched on a table lamp. "You're shaking," he pointed out.

She ignored his observation, and her hands shook furiously as she held a glass and pulled the tap on her kitchen sink forward.

"When was the last time you took a painkiller?" Goren asked, patting the spot next to him on the couch when she returned to the living room.

"I've been managing on Tylenol all day."

"Mild withdrawal," he suggested. "They had you on morphine at the hospital, and you've been on oxycodone since you came home. Now you're starting to come off everything."

She calmed down a bit. Mild withdrawal – a much better explanation for her symptoms than extreme fear.

Goren picked up the comforter he'd been sleeping under and covered Eames' shoulders with it. Hesitantly, he drew her to him with his right arm and crossed his left hand over both their bodies so that he could run it up and down her arm to keep her warm. She breathed in slowly and remembered the night almost two years ago when she'd sobbed into his chest, after Joe's murder case was finally closed for good. She remembered chiding him and rolling her eyes at him for clearly being turned on by their embrace, and she remembered his embarrassed laugh.

When Frank Goren, angry and high and not giving a shit about his son Donnie, had said, "Why don't you take Eames to a motel and get it out of your system?," he didn't know that, some months before, they'd already gotten it out of their systems.

"Alex, are you feeling all right?" She snapped out of the memory when she heard Goren's alarmed voice.

"I'm fine, why?"

"You were breathing hard. I thought your lung –" He paused, apparently thinking for a moment, until a rare Goren grin spread across his face. She laughed with him.

"Laughing hurts much less now," she said, not wanting to address what they were both thinking.

He was quiet. "Jack McCoy came down to Major Case today," he finally said.

Nice time to put _that_ back on the table, she thought. "To beg you not to let me help catch the woman who's trying to kill me?"

"Yes."

"And you told him that this is the only way?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised he hasn't called here."

"He may be afraid to," Goren said in a tone that suggested to Eames that he was about to shift into profiler mode. "A man like him, very sensitive, passionate, just narcissistic enough to believe that because he feels responsible for his girlfriend's death, he's now responsible for your life. He won't take any chances."

"I almost slept with him."

Goren cleared his throat, and she felt him shift in his seat. "What do you want me to say? You want me to ask, "why didn't you?""

"No," she said, "not at all. See, we're not partners anymore. But given that my life may be hanging by a thread – remember, Mala may not be smart enough to make the clean break that's available to her now, but she did manage to kill a professional hitman – how about you tell me what we _are_?"

Silence.

"I think," she said, "our partnership started to fall apart in the end not because we spent one night together, but because –"

"Because you were my only friend in the world, and I was too dependent on you."

She wanted to ask him why, if he'd been so dependent on her, he hadn't told her that he was undercover with a mob operation before they'd wound up barrel-to-barrel that day about a year before he retired. But she was too tired to fight. She leaned further into him.

"Alex?" he said.

Eames looked up, and Goren's lips met hers. He then kissed her forehead. "I'm sick of this life where we're doing nothing but fighting off enemies," he continued, now looking directly into her eyes. "Before Nicole Wallace, before Fremont, before Mala, before Frank and Donnie, you and I were … we were just detectives with family problems that weren't all that extraordinary." He kissed each of her cheeks, just under her eyes, this time with a hint of desperation. "You deserved a normal life. That's why I didn't want to pursue anything with you after that night. It would have been stupidly selfish."

"Nah," she said. "Almost everything you did _after_ that was stupidly selfish, but –"

"Sorry," he said with a hint of a stammer.

"No worries." She smiled up at him sadly. "Not now."

His warm hand closed around hers. "You've stopped shivering."

She leaned in for another kiss, much more passionate this time, and slid herself into his lap, keeping the comforter wrapped around her shoulders to prevent another shivering fit. "Well," he said, and she could hear that his breath had been taken away too.

"How about for the rest of the night we don't talk about it?" she offered.

He slid his hand inside her T-shirt and stopped when his thumb touched the bandages covering the small incision on her right side. "I'd hurt you," he said.

"Not if we stay exactly like this. My hospital discharge papers say, "Sex as Tolerated," you know."

Goren let out a good belly laugh, and she crashed into his chest, laughing along with him. "Ah, Eames," he began.

"Eames? You're going to call me _Eames_ for this?"

"Eames," he said, "I need you."


	25. Chapter 25

AN: This chapter is full of what they call "WTF." ;)

Please keep reading on to Chapter 26 ... this "plot twist" is not what it seems. (Trust me.)

* * *

Connie Rubirosa was pale when Mike Cutter walked into her office and asked her what was wrong. "I have to see Jack," she said, pushing past him.

"What happened? You don't look so good."

She stopped at the door. "I just spoke to Detective Lupo from the two-seven," she said, her voice hushed but clear.

"Your hands are shaking."

"He told me that Lieutenant Eames was killed on her front steps this morning."

"And Lupo thought _you_ should be the one to break the news to Jack that his NYPD sweetheart is dead?"

"Mike, stop." She started down the hall, and he followed her. "Lupo said he doesn't know a lot yet. I'm sure Major Case will call if they have the suspect in custody. They probably … they'll want some time in interrogation first."

Cutter and Rubirosa paused in front of McCoy's office, and Cutter pursed his lips and shook his head. "Our office should have stopped Major Case from carrying out its operation with Eames."

"The operation they were supposed to carry out _tomorrow_? It was no use. Lieutenant Eames didn't stand a chance." She opened the door to McCoy's office. "I'll take care of this, Mike, it's okay."

He touched her arm lightly. "I'll keep my ears open for Major Case. We'll get the lieutenant whatever justice we can get her."

She smiled sadly at her colleague, and then breezed past McCoy's secretary, into his office. He was sitting behind his desk.

"Connie. What's up?" He must have recognized the look on her face, because his next question was an alarmed, "what happened?"

"One of the two-seven detectives called a few minutes ago." She could have sworn she _saw_ his heart drop down to his feet. "Lieutenant Eames was shot on her front steps this morning. Someone who was most likely Mala Marsden lured her out of her apartment with a firebomb, after she'd shot the officers on detail. Jack, I'm sorry."

He was silent, shocked, frozen to his chair. "She was supposed to – oh, Connie – Major Case was supposed to put her out there tomorrow."

All she could think to do was pull up a chair and sit next to her boss. "I know," she said. "I know."

A faint "mmph" emerged from McCoy's throat, and when she shook his head and told her to leave him alone so that he could call Captain Brooks, he accidentally cried.

Rubirosa had no idea what to do or say. "Connie, just go," he said, somewhat more firmly.


	26. Chapter 26

That morning, Eames had woken up with no memory of having been afraid. Of course, it lasted only thirty seconds, but that was thirty seconds of freedom that she hadn't had since Mala Marsden syringed her on the subway.

When she told Goren that she'd love to curl up with him on the couch but still could only sleep propped up against the headboard of her bed, he carefully picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

"You are ridiculous," she told him.

"I do this for all my girlfriends," he teased, and she noticed that for once, he seemed happy.

Goren was already awake during her thirty seconds of calm. He was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Eames reached over and lay an open hand on his chest, across his white T-shirt. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to him.

"You feeling all right?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." She stretched her sore back as she sat up further.

Goren rolled over onto his stomach and craned his neck so that he could kiss her. "I've got to head down to One PP," he said. "We'll brief you and Tim on everything tonight."

"I'm ready for tomorrow," she promised.

At 8AM -- half an hour after Goren left -- she smelled smoke. Before she had time to truly process the smell, she saw four straight lines of flames shoot through the living room. Her twenty years experience as a police officer told her that someone had thrown a firebomb, perhaps a homemade Molotov cocktail, at the back of the house. Using all the strength she could summon, she ran for the door and hoped that the couple in the apartment upstairs had already left for work.

It dawned on her that Mala and/or an accomplice might have set fire to the back of the house in order to lure her out the front. If she walked out the front door, she wouldn't survive. Where the hell was her detail?

Hugging the wall, she made her way to the bedroom, which was where she kept her weapon. Thinking quickly, she wet a towel in the ensuite bathroom and stuffed it under the bedroom door. The fire would get there eventually, but this could buy her some time.

She stayed low to the ground -- which was painful, but necessary -- and peered out of the window. One of the officers who had been assigned to guard the house was lying on the front steps, a bullet through his chest. A second was on his stomach on the lawn.

She didn't have time to radio in, and prayed that the neighbors had started calling 911. And so, despite being weakened by her recent attack and surgery, Lieutenant Alexandra Eames, weapon in hand, climbed out of her bedroom window and landed in her driveway.

Mala was expecting her to run out the front door, and Eames knew it. By climbing out the window, Eames had bought herself a split second to spot Mala lurking beneath the steps that led to the second floor tenants' entrance. That split second gave her the time to aim and shoot Mala in the shoulder while Mala pointed her own gun and prepared to fire.

But it didn't give her time to stop Mala's shot altogether. Eames felt a terrifying pain in her left leg, and as she collapsed near the dead officer, she considered how if she hadn't shot at Mala, Mala's aim would have been better and Eames would not be alive and thinking at that moment.

Mala screamed in pain and frustration. "Just like her! Just like Claire Kincaid!" she shouted, maniacal.

Eames remembered being confused and trying to "solve" Mala's comment before she passed out.

* * *

Rubirosa stood up and opened the door, and was greeted by a frantic Cutter in the doorway. "_Not now_," McCoy hissed.

"Jack," Cutter said, waving his Blackberry in the air. "Lupo's an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"This morning at Eames' house: three officers down, one DOA. The DOA was _not Eames_."


	27. Chapter 27

She woke up in the ambulance. The doors were open, and she felt the gurney beneath her slide downwards as her body moved towards daylight. Outside, somewhere between the ambulance and the ER entrance, Goren caught up with her.

"We heard three officers down and one DOA at your house, and we didn't know what to think," he said, looking down at her.

"Who was the DOA?" she asked, trying to remember the events that had occurred that morning.

"Officer Gilbert. On your front steps. We don't know how Mala did it, Eames."

Great, another life lost as collateral damage in Mala's attempts to kill her.

Goren, as if he knew what she was thinking, reached down and squeezed her hand. He didn't let go as they wheeled her into the ER, though he didn't look down at her again. In typical Bobby Goren fashion, he scanned the room, scrutinizing everything that was going on around them.

The doctors asked him to clear out. Another awful pain seared straight through the bone in the lower half of Eames' right leg.

"Can he stay?" she asked.

Reluctantly, a nurse threw Goren a surgical mask. When they exposed the bullet wound in her leg, Goren grabbed her hand again.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Not ... bad," she lied. "Tell me Mala's in custody. Tell me she didn't run off with a bullet in her shoulder."

"She's in custody. Because of _you_. You saved your own life there."

"Do you know if Wheeler has interrogated her yet?"

"It's only been twenty minutes."

"Ah. You lose your sense of time when your life's in danger."

"Lieutenant Eames?" a resident interrupted. "We're stabilizing the wound, but the surgeon's going to need to wait at least twenty-four hours before operating. Your lungs need to be completely stable first. We'll put you in one of the private rooms in the ER for now while we wait for a room upstairs, and we'll give you something stronger for the pain."

"Mmph," was all she could come up with as they probed the wound again.

"Hey," Goren said, tilting his head sideways but not leaning in any closer, "you're safe. Remember that."

A nurse placed an oxygen mask over Eames' face and warned her that she needed to leave it on in order to strengthen her lungs for surgery. As soon as she and Goren were alone in the private room, however, she removed the mask.

"Before Wheeler questions Mala," she said, half-breathless, "I need to talk to Jack McCoy."

"Why?" Goren asked brusquely, betraying a hint of what might have been jealousy.

"Because Mala might have had something to do with the Claire Kincaid murder. She told me, after we'd both shot each other, that I was just like Claire Kincaid. Those were her words. This" -- she paused to catch her breath -- "could turn motive on its head for both her case and mine, and Jack would probably be most comfortable talking to me."

Goren sat on a stool near the bed and wheeled himself closer, clasping his hands together and shrugging his shoulders as he leaned in towards her. "You should put the mask back on before you start coughing."

"They're just taking extra precautions. Is that your way of telling me to be quiet?" She smiled broadly, and he couldn't help but smile along with her.

"You saved your own life," he said, repeating what he'd said in the ER. "Again."

She lifted an aching arm and ran a hand through the curls just starting to form near Goren's scalp. He was grayer, and more tired, than he'd ever been, but his emotional faculties, which she thought had been left forever fried by his mother and Frank, the Gages, and Nicole Wallace, were definitely starting to return.

She remembered when she'd fallen asleep in her hospital room the night after she got away from Jo Gage, she'd sleep for fifteen minutes and then be afraid to open her eyes, terrified she'd wake up still suspended from the ceiling, hearing screams behind the curtain. But every time she'd summon up the courage to open her eyes, she'd see her partner watching her, clearly invested in her well-being. She'd suspected then that he loved her, or was starting to.

Which was why she'd thought, after they closed Joe's case, after they spent that first night together (how strange that that moment should forever be linked to their figuring out who'd actually shot Joe in the stomach), that he'd want to end their NYPD partnership and start a romantic partnership. It was a silly mistake on her part, she now knew; he was broken beyond belief.

Now, he was kissing the back of her hand and maybe feeling guilty that she'd had to save her own life again. He'd proven to himself that he was capable of human interaction, of making connections with friends, family, and co-workers without having to lean on Eames. He was _here_.

Still kind of a whackjob, sure, but his eyes were smiling, and he was _here_.

* * *

Thanks for your patience with this one, guys ... just a few more chapters to go. :) This turned out to be slightly longer than I thought it would be ... next up: Eames talks to McCoy, has her surgery, and the "team" figures out that the "unrelated incidents" may be a lot more related than they thought.


	28. Chapter 28

"For fourteen years," Jack McCoy said, wringing his hands as he paced the small room in the corner of the ER, "I believed that if Claire's mind hadn't been preoccupied, if I'd just acknowledged that she was a thirty-two-year-old woman who was ready to have a child, if I wasn't so afraid of making a complete commitment for the second time in my life, she'd have swerved out of the way and the car wouldn't have T-boned her." He took a deep breath and stood over Eames' bed. "So now we know for certain that Claire was killed by a hitman who'd have killed her regardless of whether she was on her way to pick up me or the King of Spain, and still, it still feels like my fault."

"Jack," Eames said, "you're leaning on my catheter."

McCoy quickly backed away from the bed, and then, noticing the absurdity of the situation, offered her a warm laugh. Eames shrugged, overly relaxed thanks to the painkillers being pumped into her body. "Hey," she said, half-breathless, "I feel responsible for my sister and for the officer who was killed on my front steps this morning. What can you do?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said, providing an unnecessary answer to her rhetorical question.

"So are you going to answer my original question?" she asked. "What did Claire Kincaid and I have in common?"

"I don't know. One of your guys at the precinct told one of my ADAs that you were dead. Alex, I'm so glad --"

"Jack. Listen to me. Now, why would Mala have told me that I was just like Claire Kincaid?"

"She'd have been about three years older than you if she'd ... if ... I haven't talked about her this much in years. Maybe Mala Marsden was messing with your head."

"I think there may be more of a connection between Claire's murder and" -- she held her arms out as if to indicate her own situation -- "_this_. She said I was just like Claire. Those were her words."

"This is eating away at you, honey," McCoy said, immediately wincing at his own term-of-endearment-slip-of-the-tongue. "What I mean is, Mala's in custody and you have nothing to worry about. It's my office's job to argue motive."

When Goren returned to the room seconds later, he and McCoy wound up facing each other across Eames' bed. She hadn't felt awkwardness hang this thick in the air since high school.

"I, uh, Mala's still in surgery," Goren said.

"You have to ask her what she meant," Eames begged. "Then we'll have motive for both --"

"I hope I'm not hearing you suggest that a retired detective question a suspect who's just come out of surgery," McCoy interrupted. "You wouldn't hand a defense attorney a way in like that, would you?"

"No," Eames promised, and she saw Goren's eyes widen, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Wheeler will take care of everything according to procedure."

And then, as if he wanted to add to the awkwardness, McCoy offered Goren his hand. Goren shook it firmly, and Eames couldn't help let out a small laugh in response to Goren's confused expression, even though she'd spent the last six hours in a hospital bed, attached to a catheter, four IVs, and heart and breathing monitors, waiting for a room to open upstairs.

"Alex, I'll see you soon," McCoy said, making his way to the door. "Keep me posted."

When McCoy left, Goren stared up at the ceiling for a while, pacing a small sector of the room. "Whatever it is you're planning to do, Bobby," Eames said, "I know nothing."


	29. Chapter 29

Been busy with other projects in real life. ;) There will be one more chapter wrapping things up for Our Heroes soon. Sorry about the ridiculously lagging update!

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Goren knew that he was not supposed to be on the fifth floor of the hospital. He knew that he was not supposed to be in the ward where they kept prisoners. And, he knew that with each step he took, he was another step closer to losing his NYPD pension.

The guard outside Mala's room recognized him, but let him through anyway. Somewhere, Goren was sure, a defense attorney was squirming with excitement.

But what kind of defense did the pale, auburn-haired, plastic-surgery-ridden woman sitting up in the bed in front of him have, anyway? She'd escaped from prison and was now charged with three murders and one attempted murder.

"This isn't your fight, Detective Goren," Mala said, her tone surprisingly gentle. He remembered how kind she'd seemed when they'd first questioned her about the disappearance of her older sister.

"How's Hilary?" Goren asked. "Have you heard from her?"

"You _know_ she was transferred to a federal prison. You know I haven't seen her in three years," Mala said sharply.

"You're in prison for life now," Goren said, pacing the room. "Lucky for you, the death penalty hasn't been a threat in New York for years. What a _stupid_ thing to do, Ms. Marsden, when you'd have probably been out in three years anyway. Bernard Fremont and Nicole Wallace's smarts certainly didn't rub off on you."

"I don't see your point in taunting me when I'm going back to jail anyway." Mala inhaled a single breath loudly through her nose. "Besides, Nicole Wallace was nothing more than a sex-addict farmer with borderline personality disorder."

"Nicole was _brilliant_," Goren said, exaggerating the "t" on the last word. "You tried to make me think she was still alive, but as soon as you started making mistakes, I knew it wasn't her."

"You didn't know it wasn't Nicole until you found her bones," Mala hissed. "And I told you, this was never about you."

"It was about Eames and the parole board. You made an idiotic exchange, Mala. Nicole would have been smart enough to stay in jail. In fact, that's exactly what she did in Thailand."

"Your partner – took – Bernard – away – from us," she said between difficult breaths.

"Calm down Mala, calm down," he said, holding out his hands and hoping that Wheeler and the NYPD wouldn't find out about his transgression. "I don't understand. Nicole killed Bernard."

"Detective Eames was standing near him. She's NYPD. She should have protected him. She took Bernard away."

Goren sat in a chair beside the bed and rubbed his eyes. "Is that why Hilary hired Overland to kill Claire Kincaid?" he asked softly.

Mala looked up at the ceiling. "Did ADA Kincaid take Bernard away from Hilary?" Goren continued. He was beginning to understand the sisters' mangled logic.

"She … it was always Nicole, and you know that. Hilary was so happy with Bernard in Thailand. But Nicole, her hooks were always in him, even though she didn't love him at all, not like Hilary and I did."

"So when Nicole's girlfriend Lina Haller went on trial here in New York …" Goren prompted.

"Of course Bernard came running to help her. Hilary had no clue what Bernard was doing here, how he could have possibly been helping Nicole and Lina, but he was gone for a year. Kincaid stretched out the prosecution. Hilary couldn't forgive her for that."

"Kincaid was second chair on that case."

"But _it was her fault_," Mala insisted.

"Just like it was Eames' fault and not mine that Nicole killed Bernard?"

"Enough," Mala said. "I'm going to page the nurse."

"Fine. Fine." Goren stood up and waved his hands around, apparently trying to diffuse his own fury. "I'm done."


End file.
